Chapter XIV: Part IV (1)

The ever-changing Moon had traced
Twelve times her monthly round,
When through the unfrequented Waste
Was heard a startling sound;
A shout thrice sent from one who chased 5
At speed a wounded deer,
Bounding through branches interlaced,
And where the wood was clear.

The fainting creature took the marsh,
And toward the Island fled, 10
While plovers screamed with tumult harsh
Above his antlered head;
This, Ina saw; and, pale with fear,
Shrunk to her citadel;
The desperate deer rushed on, and near 15
The tangled covert fell.

Across the marsh, the game in view,
The Hunter followed fast,
Nor paused, till o'er the stag he blew
A death-proclaiming blast; 20
Then, resting on her upright mind,
Came forth the Maid--"In me
Behold," she said, "a stricken Hind
Pursued by destiny!

"From your deportment, Sir! I deem 25
That you have worn a sword,
And will not hold in light esteem
A suffering woman's word;
There is my covert, there perchance
I might have lain concealed, 30
My fortunes hid, my countenance
Not even to you revealed.

"Tears might be shed, and I might pray,
Crouching and terrified,
That what has been unveiled to-day, 35
You would in mystery hide;
But I will not defile with dust
The knee that bends to adore
The God in heaven;--attend, be just;
This ask I, and no more! 40

"I speak not of the winter's cold,
For summer's heat exchanged,
While I have lodged in this rough hold,
From social life estranged;
Nor yet of trouble and alarms: 45
High Heaven is my defence;
And every season has soft arms
For injured Innocence.

"From Moscow to the Wilderness
It was my choice to come, 50
Lest virtue should be harbourless,
And honour want a home;
And happy were I, if the Czar
Retain his lawless will,
To end life here like this poor deer, 55
Or a lamb on a green hill."

"Are you the Maid," the Stranger cried,
"From Gallic parents sprung,
Whose vanishing was rumoured wide,
Sad theme for every tongue; 60
Who foiled an Emperor's eager quest?
You, Lady, forced to wear
These rude habiliments, and rest
Your head in this dark lair!"

But wonder, pity, soon were quelled; 65
And in her face and mien
The soul's pure brightness he beheld
Without a veil between:
He loved, he hoped,--a holy flame
Kindled 'mid rapturous tears; 70
The passion of a moment came
As on the wings of years.

"Such bounty is no gift of chance,"
Exclaimed he; "righteous Heaven,
Preparing your deliverance, 75
To me the charge hath given.
The Czar full oft in words and deeds
Is stormy and self-willed;
But, when the Lady Catherine pleads,
His violence is stilled. 80

"Leave open to my wish the course,
And I to her will go;
From that humane and heavenly source,
Good, only good, can flow."
Faint sanction given, the Cavalier 85
Was eager to depart,
Though question followed question, dear
To the Maiden's filial heart.[663]

Light was his step,--his hopes, more light,
Kept pace with his desires; 90
And the fifth[664] morning gave him sight
Of Moscow's glittering spires.
He sued:--heart-smitten by the wrong,
To the lorn Fugitive
The Emperor sent a pledge as strong 95
As sovereign power could give.

O more than mighty change! If e'er
Amazement rose to pain,
And joy's excess[665] produced a fear
Of something void and vain; 100
'Twas when the Parents, who had mourned
So long the lost as dead,
Beheld their only Child returned,
The household floor to tread.

Soon gratitude gave way to love 105
Within the Maiden's breast:
Delivered and Deliverer move
In bridal garments drest;
Meek Catherine had her own reward;
The Czar bestowed a dower; 110
And universal Moscow shared
The triumph of that hour.

Flowers strewed the ground; the nuptial feast
Was held with costly state;
And there, 'mid many a noble guest, 115
The Foster-parents sate;
Encouraged by the imperial eye,
They shrank not into shade;
Great was their bliss, the honour high
To them and nature paid! 120

FOOTNOTES:

[650] Peter Henry Bruce, having given in his entertaining Memoirs the substance of this Tale,[666] affirms that, besides the concurring reports of others, he had the story from the lady's own mouth.

The Lady Catherine, mentioned towards the close, is[667] the famous Catherine, then bearing that name as the acknowledged Wife of Peter the Great.--W. W. 1835.

The title of this poem in the MS. copy by Mrs. Wordsworth is--

INA,
OR,
THE LODGE IN THE FOREST,
A Russian Tale.

ED.

[651] Compare S. T. Coleridge's verses, _To a Lady_--

'Tis not the lily-brow I prize,
Nor roseate cheeks, nor sunny eyes,
Enough of lilies and of roses!
A thousand-fold more dear to me
The gentle look that Love discloses,--
The look that Love alone can see!

And Keats' lines beginning--

Woman! when I behold thee flippant, vain.

Also Wordsworth's _Jewish Family_, II. 25-28.--ED.

[652] 1835.

Yea, to the stars themselves, if born C.

[653] 1835.

... by gold unbarred,

MS. copy by Mrs. Wordsworth.

[654] 1837.

She hung upon ... 1835.

[655] 1837.

She led her Lady ... 1835.

[656] 1835.

And I must hide me from his wrath.

MS.

[657] 1850.

That here ... 1835.

[658] 1835.

And smiles, the sunshine of distress,
That hide-yet more betray.

MS.

[659] 1835.

... serene;
Exalting lowly grace,
A Faith which does ...

MS.

[660] In the edition of 1835 the two preceding lines were placed within quotation marks, and the following added "From Golding's Translation of Ovid's _Metamorphoses_. See also his Dedicatory Epistle prefixed to the same work."-ED.

[661] "Not a Russian house, Bruce tells us, was, at his time, without a picture of the Virgin." (MS. note to a copy of this poem, in Mrs. Wordsworth's handwriting.)--ED.

[662] The Royal Palace at Moscow.--ED.

[663] 1835.

... the Cavalier
Recounted all he knew,
The sufferer's filial heart to cheer;
Then hastily withdrew.

MS.

[664] 1837.

... third ... 1835.

[665] 1837.

And over-joy ... 1835.

[666] 1845.

of the following Tale 1835.

[667] 1837.

was 1835.

THE EGYPTIAN MAID

OR, THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER LILY

Composed 1830.--Published 1835

For the names and persons in the following poem, see the "History of the renowned Prince Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table"; for the rest the Author is answerable; only it may be proper to add, that the Lotus, with the bust of the Goddess appearing to rise out of the full-blown flower, was suggested by the beautiful work of ancient art, once included among the Townley Marbles, and now in the British Museum.--W. W. 1835.

[In addition to the short notice prefixed to this poem, it may be worth while here to say, that it rose out of a few words casually used in conversation by my nephew, Henry Hutchinson. He was describing with great spirit the appearance and movement of a vessel which he seemed to admire more than any other he had ever seen, and said her name was the Water Lily. This plant has been my delight from my boyhood, as I have seen it floating on the lake; and that conversation put me upon constructing and composing the poem. Had I not heard those words, it would never have been written. The form of the stanza is new, and is nothing but a repetition of the first five lines as they were thrown off, and is not perhaps well suited to narrative, and certainly would not have been trusted to had I thought at the beginning that the poem would have gone to such a length.--I. F.]

In the editions of 1835 and 1837 this poem was assigned a place of its own. In 1845 it was placed among the "Memorials of a Tour in Italy, 1837."--ED.

While Merlin paced the Cornish sands,
Forth-looking toward the rocks of Scilly,
The pleased Enchanter was aware
Of a bright Ship that seemed to hang in air,
Yet was she work of mortal hands, 5
And took from men her name--THE WATER LILY.

Soft was the wind, that landward blew;
And, as the Moon, o'er some dark hill ascendant,
Grows from a little edge of light
To a full orb, this Pinnace bright 10
Became, as nearer to the coast she drew,
More glorious, with spread sail and streaming pendant.

Upon this wingèd Shape so fair
Sage Merlin gazed with admiration:
Her lineaments, thought he, surpass 15
Aught that was ever shown in magic glass;
Was ever built with patient care;
Or, at a touch, produced by happiest transformation.[668]

Now, though a Mechanist, whose skill
Shames the degenerate grasp of modern science, 20
Grave Merlin (and belike the more
For practising occult and perilous lore)
Was subject to a freakish will
That sapped good thoughts, or scared them with defiance.

Provoked to envious spleen, he cast 25
An altered look upon the advancing Stranger
Whom he had hailed with joy, and cried,
"My Art shall help to tame her pride--"
Anon the breeze became a blast,
And the waves rose, and sky portended danger. 30

With thrilling word, and potent sign
Traced on the beach, his work the Sorcerer urges;
The clouds in blacker clouds are lost,
Like spiteful Fiends that vanish, crossed
By Fiends of aspect more malign; 35
And the winds roused the Deep with fiercer scourges.

But worthy of the name she bore
Was this Sea-flower, this buoyant Galley:
Supreme in loveliness and grace
Of motion, whether in the embrace 40
Of trusty anchorage, or scudding o'er
The main flood roughened into hill and valley.

Behold, how wantonly she laves
Her sides, the Wizard's craft confounding;
Like something out of Ocean sprung 45
To be for ever fresh and young,
Breasts the sea-flashes, and huge waves
Top-gallant high, rebounding and rebounding!

But Ocean under magic heaves,
And cannot spare the Thing he cherished: 50
Ah! what avails that she was fair,
Luminous, blithe, and debonair?
The storm has stripped her of her leaves;
The Lily floats no longer!--She hath perished.

Grieve for her,--she deserves no less; 55
So like, yet so unlike, a living Creature!
No heart had she, no busy brain;
Though loved, she could not love again;
Though pitied, _feel_ her own distress;
Nor aught that troubles us, the fools of Nature. 60

Yet is there cause for gushing tears;
So richly was this Galley laden,
A fairer than herself she bore,
And, in her struggles, cast ashore;
A lovely One, who nothing hears 65
Of wind or wave--a meek and guileless Maiden.

Into a cave had Merlin fled
From mischief, caused by spells himself had muttered;
And while, repentant all too late,
In moody posture there he sate, 70
He heard a voice, and saw, with half-raised head,
A Visitant by whom these words were uttered;

"On Christian service this frail Bark
Sailed" (hear me, Merlin!) "under high protection,
Though on her prow a sign of heathen power 75
Was carved--a Goddess with a Lily flower,
The old Egyptian's emblematic mark
Of joy immortal and of pure affection.

"Her course was for the British strand;
Her freight, it was a Damsel peerless; 80
God reigns above, and Spirits strong
May gather to avenge this wrong
Done to the Princess, and her Land
Which she in duty left, sad but not cheerless.[669]

"And to Caerleon's loftiest tower 85
Soon will the Knights of Arthur's Table
A cry of lamentation send;
And all will weep who there attend,
To grace that Stranger's bridal hour,
For whom the sea was made unnavigable. 90

"Shame! should a Child of royal line
Die through the blindness of thy malice?"
Thus to the Necromancer spake
Nina, the Lady of the Lake,
A gentle Sorceress, and benign, 95
Who ne'er embittered any good man's chalice.

"What boots," continued she, "to mourn?
To expiate thy sin endeavour:
From the bleak isle where she is laid,
Fetched by our art, the Egyptian Maid 100
May yet to Arthur's court be borne
Cold as she is, ere life be fled for ever.

"My pearly Boat, a shining Light,
That brought me down that sunless river,
Will bear me on from wave to wave, 105
And back with her to this sea-cave;--
Then Merlin! for a rapid flight
Through air, to thee my Charge will I deliver.

"The very swiftest of thy cars
Must, when my part is done, be ready; 110
Meanwhile, for further guidance, look
Into thy own prophetic book;
And, if that fail, consult the Stars
To learn thy course; farewell! be prompt and steady."

This scarcely spoken, she again 115
Was seated in her gleaming shallop,
That, o'er the yet-distempered Deep,
Pursued its way with bird-like sweep,
Or like a steed, without a rein,
Urged o'er the wilderness in sportive gallop. 120

Soon did the gentle Nina reach
That Isle without a house or haven;
Landing, she found not what she sought,
Nor saw of wreck or ruin aught
But a carved Lotus cast upon the beach[670] 125
By the fierce waves, a flower in marble graven.

Sad relique, but how fair the while!
For gently each from each retreating
With backward curve, the leaves revealed
The bosom half, and half concealed, 130
Of a Divinity, that seemed to smile
On Nina, as she passed, with hopeful greeting.

No quest was hers of vague desire,
Of tortured hope and purpose shaken;
Following the margin of a bay, 135
She spied the lonely Cast-away,
Unmarred, unstripped of her attire,
But with closed eyes,--of breath and bloom forsaken.

Then Nina, stooping down, embraced,
With tenderness and mild emotion, 140
The Damsel, in that trance embound;
And, while she raised her from the ground,
And in the pearly shallop placed,
Sleep fell upon the air, and stilled the ocean.

The turmoil hushed, celestial springs 145
Of music opened, and there came a blending
Of fragrance, underived from earth,
With gleams that owed not to the sun their birth,
And that soft rustling of invisible wings[671]
Which Angels make, on works of love descending. 150

And Nina heard a sweeter voice
Than if the Goddess of the flower had spoken:
"Thou hast achieved, fair Dame! what none
Less pure in spirit could have done;
Go, in thy enterprise rejoice! 155
Air, earth, sea, sky, and heaven, success betoken."

So cheered, she left that Island bleak,
A bare rock of the Scilly cluster,
And, as they traversed the smooth brine,
The self-illumined Brigantine 160
Shed, on the Slumberer's cold wan cheek
And pallid brow, a melancholy lustre.

Fleet was their course, and when they came
To the dim cavern, whence the river
Issued into the salt-sea flood, 165
Merlin, as fixed in thought he stood,
Was thus accosted by the Dame;
"Behold to thee my Charge I now deliver!

But where attends thy chariot--where?"--
Quoth Merlin, "Even as I was bidden, 170
So have I done; as trusty as thy barge
My vehicle shall prove--O precious Charge!
If this be sleep, how soft! if death, how fair!
Much have my books disclosed, but the end is hidden."

He spake; and gliding into view 175
Forth from the grotto's dimmest chamber
Came two mute Swans, whose plumes of dusky white
Changed, as the pair approached the light,
Drawing an ebon car, their hue
(Like clouds of sunset) into lucid amber. 180

Once more did gentle Nina lift
The Princess, passive to all changes:
The car received her:--then up-went
Into the ethereal element
The Birds with progress smooth and swift 185
As thought, when through bright regions memory ranges.

Sage Merlin, at the Slumberer's side,
Instructs the Swans their way to measure;
And soon Caerleon's towers appeared,
And notes of minstrelsy were heard 190
From rich pavilions spreading wide,
For some high day of long-expected pleasure.

Awe-stricken stood both Knights and Dames
Ere on firm ground the car alighted;
Eftsoons astonishment was past, 195
For in that face they saw the last
Last lingering look of clay, that tames
All pride; by which all happiness is blighted.

Said Merlin, "Mighty King, fair Lords,
Away with feast and tilt and tourney! 200
Ye saw, throughout this royal House,
Ye heard, a rocking marvellous
Of turrets, and a clash of swords
Self-shaken, as I closed my airy journey.

"Lo! by a destiny well known 205
To mortals, joy is turned to sorrow;
This is the wished-for Bride, the Maid
Of Egypt, from a rock conveyed
Where she by shipwreck had been thrown;
Ill sight! but grief may vanish ere the morrow." 210

"Though vast thy power, thy words are weak,"
Exclaimed the King, "a mockery hateful;
Dutiful Child, her lot how hard!
Is this her piety's reward?
Those watery locks, that bloodless cheek! 215
O winds without remorse! O shore ungrateful!

"Rich robes are fretted by the moth;
Towers, temples, fall by stroke of thunder;
Will that, or deeper thoughts, abate
A Father's sorrow for her fate? 220
He will repent him of his troth;
His brain will burn, his stout heart split asunder.

"Alas! and I have caused this woe;
For, when my prowess from invading Neighbours
Had freed his Realm, he plighted word 225
That he would turn to Christ our Lord,
And his dear Daughter on a Knight bestow
Whom I should choose for love and matchless labours.

"Her birth was heathen; but a fence
Of holy Angels round her hovered: 230
A Lady added to my court
So fair, of such divine report
And worship, seemed a recompense
For fifty kingdoms by my sword recovered.

"Ask not for whom, O Champions true! 235
She was reserved by me her life's betrayer;
She who was meant to be a bride
Is now a corse: then put aside
Vain thoughts, and speed ye, with observance due
Of Christian rites, in Christian ground to lay her." 240

"The tomb," said Merlin, "may not close
Upon her yet, earth hide her beauty;
Not froward to thy sovereign will
Esteem me, Liege! if I, whose skill
Wafted her hither, interpose 245
To check this pious haste of erring duty.

"My books command me to lay bare
The secret thou art bent on keeping:
Here must a high attest be given, 249
_What_ Bridegroom was for her ordained by Heaven:
And in my glass significants there are
Of things that may to gladness turn this weeping.

"For this, approaching, One by One,
Thy Knights must touch the cold hand of the Virgin;
So, for the favoured One, the Flower may bloom 255
Once more: but, if unchangeable her doom,
If life departed be for ever gone,
Some blest assurance, from this cloud emerging,

"May teach him to bewail his loss;
Not with a grief that, like a vapour, rises 260
And melts; but grief devout that shall endure,
And a perpetual growth secure
Of purposes which no false thought shall cross,
A harvest of high hopes and noble enterprises."

"So be it," said the King;--"anon, 265
Here, where the Princess lies, begin the trial;
Knights each in order as ye stand
Step forth."--To touch the pallid hand
Sir Agravaine advanced; no sign he won
From Heaven or earth;--Sir Kaye had like denial. 270

Abashed, Sir Dinas turned away;
Even for Sir Percival was no disclosure;
Though he, devoutest of all Champions, ere
He reached that ebon car, the bier
Whereon diffused like snow the Damsel lay, 275
Full thrice had crossed himself in meek composure.

Imagine (but ye Saints! who can?)
How in still air the balance trembled--
The wishes, peradventure the despites
That overcame some not ungenerous Knights; 280
And all the thoughts that lengthened out a span
Of time to Lords and Ladies thus assembled.

What patient confidence was here!
And there how many bosoms panted!
While drawing toward the car Sir Gawaine, mailed 285
For tournament, his beaver vailed,
And softly touched; but, to his princely cheer
And high expectancy, no sign was granted.

Next, disencumbered of his harp,
Sir Tristram, dear to thousands as a brother, 290
Came to the proof, nor grieved that there ensued
No change;--the fair Izonda he had wooed
With love too true, a love with pangs too sharp,
From hope too distant, not to dread another.

Not so Sir Launcelot; from Heaven's grace 295
A sign he craved, tired slave of vain contrition;
The royal Guinever looked passing glad.
When his touch failed.--Next came Sir Galahad;
He paused, and stood entranced by that still face
Whose features he had seen in noontide vision. 300

For late, as near a murmuring stream
He rested 'mid an arbour green and shady,
Nina, the good Enchantress, shed
A light around his mossy bed;
And, at her call, a waking dream 305
Prefigured to his sense the Egyptian Lady.

Now, while his bright-haired front he bowed,
And stood, far-kenned by mantle furred with ermine,
As o'er the insensate Body hung
The enrapt, the beautiful, the young, 310
Belief sank deep into the crowd
That he the solemn issue would determine.

Nor deem it strange; the Youth had worn
That very mantle on a day of glory,
The day when he achieved that matchless feat, 315
The marvel of the PERILOUS SEAT,
Which whosoe'er approached of strength was shorn,
Though King or Knight the most renowned in story.

He touched with hesitating hand--
And lo! those Birds, far-famed through Love's dominions, 320
The Swans, in triumph clap their wings;
And their necks play, involved in rings,
Like sinless snakes in Eden's happy land;--
"Mine is she," cried the Knight;--again they clapped their pinions.

"Mine was she--mine she is, though dead, 325
And to her name my soul shall cleave in sorrow;"
Whereat, a tender twilight streak
Of colour dawned upon the Damsel's cheek;
And her lips, quickening with uncertain red,
Seemed from each other a faint warmth to borrow. 330

Deep was the awe, the rapture high,
Of love emboldened, hope with dread entwining,
When, to the mouth, relenting Death
Allowed a soft and flower-like breath,
Precursor to a timid sigh, 335
To lifted eyelids, and a doubtful shining.

In silence did King Arthur gaze
Upon the signs that pass away or tarry;
In silence watched the gentle strife
Of Nature leading back to life; 340
Then eased his soul at length by praise
Of God, and Heaven's pure Queen--the blissful Mary.

Then said he, "Take her to thy heart,
Sir Galahad! a treasure, that God giveth,
Bound by indissoluble ties to thee 345
Through mortal change and immortality;
Be happy and unenvied, thou who art
A goodly Knight that hath no peer that liveth!"

Not long the Nuptials were delayed;
And sage tradition still rehearses 350
The pomp, the glory of that hour
When toward the altar from her bower
King Arthur led the Egyptian Maid,
And Angels carolled these far-echoed verses;--

Who shrinks not from alliance 355
Of evil with good Powers,
To God proclaims defiance,
And mocks whom he adores.

A Ship to Christ devoted
From the Land of Nile did go; 360
Alas! the bright Ship floated,
An Idol at her prow.

By magic domination,
The Heaven-permitted vent
Of purblind mortal passion, 365
Was wrought her punishment.

The Flower, the Form within it,
What served they in her need?
Her port she could not win it,
Nor from mishap be freed. 370

The tempest overcame her,
And she was seen no more;
But gently, gently blame her--
She cast a Pearl ashore.

The Maid to Jesu hearkened, 375
And kept to him her faith,
Till sense in death was darkened,
Or sleep akin to death.

But Angels round her pillow
Kept watch, a viewless band; 380
And, billow favouring billow,
She reached the destined strand.

Blest Pair! whate'er befal you,
Your faith in Him approve
Who from frail earth can call you 385
To bowers of endless love!

FOOTNOTES:

[668] 1837.

... set forth with wondrous transformation. 1835.

[669] 1837.

... though sad not cheerless. 1835.

[670] 1837.

... shore 1835.

[671] Compare _Paradise Lost_, book i. l. 768.--ED.

THE POET AND THE CAGED TURTLEDOVE[672]

Composed 1830.--Published 1835

[Written at Rydal Mount. This dove was one of a pair that had been given to my daughter by our excellent friend, Miss Jewsbury,[673] who went to India with her husband, Mr. Fletcher, where she died of cholera. The dove survived its mate many years, and was killed, to our great sorrow, by a neighbour's cat that got in at the window and dragged it partly out of the cage. These verses were composed extempore, to the letter, in the Terrace Summer-house before spoken of. It was the habit of the bird to begin cooing and murmuring whenever it heard me making my verses.--I.F.]

One of the "Poems of the Fancy."--ED.

As often as I murmur here
My half-formed melodies,
Straight from her osier mansion near,
The Turtledove replies:
Though silent as a leaf before, 5
The captive promptly coos;
Is it to teach her own soft lore,
Or second my weak Muse?

I rather think, the gentle Dove
Is murmuring a reproof, 10
Displeased that I from lays of love
Have dared to keep aloof;
That I, a Bard of hill and dale,
Have carolled, fancy free,[674]
As if nor dove nor nightingale, 15
Had heart or voice for me.

If such thy meaning, O forbear,
Sweet Bird! to do me wrong;
Love, blessed Love, is every where
The spirit of my song: 20
'Mid grove, and by the calm fireside,
Love animates my lyre--
That coo again!--'tis not to chide,
I feel, but to inspire.

FOOTNOTES:

[672] In a MS. letter to Sir George Beaumont I find the poem entitled "Twenty minutes Exercise on the Terrace last night, but Scene within doors."--ED.

[673] Compare the Sonnet beginning--

While Anna's peers and early playmates tread (p. 168.)--ED.

[674] Compare _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, act II. scene i. l. 164.--ED.

PRESENTIMENTS

Composed 1830.--Published 1835

[Written at Rydal Mount.--I. F.]

One of the "Poems of the Imagination."--ED.

Presentiments! they judge not right
Who deem that ye from open light
Retire in fear of shame;
All _heaven-born_ Instincts shun the touch
Of vulgar sense,--and, being such, 5
Such privilege ye claim.

The tear whose source I could not guess,
The deep sigh that seemed fatherless,
Were mine in early days;
And now, unforced by time to part 10
With fancy, I obey my heart,
And venture on your praise.

What though some busy foes to good,
Too potent over nerve and blood,
Lurk near you--and combine 15
To taint the health which ye infuse;
This hides not from the moral Muse
Your origin divine.

How oft from you, derided Powers!
Comes Faith that in auspicious hours 20
Builds castles, not of air:
Bodings unsanctioned by the will
Flow from your visionary skill,
And teach us to beware.

The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, 25
That no philosophy can lift,
Shall vanish, if ye please,
Like morning mist: and, where it lay,
The spirits at your bidding play
In gaiety and ease. 30

Star-guided contemplations move
Through space, though calm, not raised above
Prognostics that ye rule;
The naked Indian of the wild,
And haply, too, the cradled Child, 35
Are pupils of your school.

But who can fathom your intents,
Number their signs or instruments?
A rainbow, a sunbeam,
A subtle smell that Spring unbinds, 40
Dead pause abrupt of midnight winds,
An echo, or a dream.[675]

The laughter of the Christmas hearth
With sighs of self-exhausted mirth
Ye feelingly reprove; 45
And daily, in the conscious breast,
Your visitations are a test
And exercise of love.

When some great change gives boundless scope
To an exulting Nation's hope, 50
Oft, startled and made wise
By your low-breathed interpretings,
The simply-meek foretaste the springs
Of bitter contraries.

Ye daunt the proud array of war, 55
Pervade the lonely ocean far
As sail hath been unfurled;
For dancers in the festive hall
What ghastly partners hath your call
Fetched from the shadowy world. 60

'Tis said, that warnings ye dispense,
Emboldened by a keener sense;
That men have lived for whom,
With dread precision, ye made clear
The hour that in a distant year 65
Should knell them to the tomb.

Unwelcome insight! Yet there are
Blest times when mystery is laid bare,
Truth shows a glorious face,
While on that isthmus which commands 70
The councils of both worlds, she stands,
Sage Spirits! by your grace.

God, who instructs the brutes to scent
All changes of the element,
Whose wisdom fixed the scale 75
Of natures, for our wants provides
By higher, sometimes humbler, guides,
When lights of reason fail.

FOOTNOTES:

[675] Compare Robert Browning's _Bishop Blougram's Apology_, ll. 191-197--

... there's a sunset-touch,
A fancy from a flower-bell, some one's death,
A chorus-ending from Euripides,--.
And that's enough for fifty hopes and fears
As old and new at once as Nature's self,
To rap and knock and enter in our soul,
Take hands and dance there, a fantastic ring, etc.--ED.

"IN THESE FAIR VALES HATH MANY A TREE"

Composed 1830.--Published 1835

[Engraven, during my absence in Italy, upon a brass plate inserted in the Stone.--I. F.]

This poem was classed among the "Inscriptions." In 1835 its title was _Inscription intended for a Stone in the grounds of Rydal Mount_. In 1845, and afterwards, the first line of the poem was its only title.--ED.

In these fair vales hath many a Tree
At Wordsworth's suit been spared;
And from the builder's hand this Stone,
For some rude beauty of its own,
Was rescued by the Bard: 5
So let it rest; and time will come
When here the tender-hearted
May heave a gentle sigh for him,
As one of the departed.

The inscription is still preserved on the "brass plate inserted in the stone," within the grounds at Rydal Mount.--ED.

ELEGIAC MUSINGS

IN THE GROUNDS OF COLEORTON HALL, THE SEAT
OF THE LATE[676] SIR G.H. BEAUMONT, BART.

Composed 1830.--Published 1835

In these grounds stands the Parish Church, wherein is a mural monument bearing an inscription which,[677] in deference to the earnest request of the deceased, is confined to name, dates, and these words:--"Enter not into judgment with thy servant, O Lord!"--W. W.

[These verses were in part composed on horseback during a storm, while I was on my way from Colcorton to Cambridge: they are alluded to elsewhere.[678]--I.F.]

One of the "Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces."--ED.

With copious eulogy in prose or rhyme[679]
Graven on the tomb we struggle against Time,
Alas, how feebly! but our feelings rise
And still we struggle when a good man dies:
Such offering BEAUMONT dreaded and forbade, 5
A spirit meek in self-abasement clad.
Yet _here_ at least, though few have numbered days
That shunned so modestly the light of praise,
His graceful manners, and the temperate ray
Of that arch fancy which would round him play, 10
Brightening a converse never known to swerve
From courtesy and delicate reserve;
That sense, the bland philosophy of life,
Which checked discussion ere it warmed to strife;
Those rare accomplishments,[680] and varied powers, 15
Might have their record among sylvan bowers.
Oh, fled for ever! vanished like a blast
That shook the leaves in myriads as it passed;--
Gone from this world of earth, air, sea, and sky,
From all its spirit-moving imagery, 20
Intensely studied with a painter's eye,
A poet's heart; and, for congenial view,
Portrayed with happiest pencil, not untrue
To common recognitions while the line
Flowed in a course of sympathy divine;-- 25
Oh! severed, too abruptly, from delights
That all the seasons shared with equal rights;--
Rapt in the grace of undismantled age,
From soul-felt music, and the treasured page
Lit by that evening lamp which loved to shed 30
Its mellow lustre round thy honoured head;
While Friends beheld thee give with eye, voice, mien,
More than theatric force to Shakspeare's scene;--[681]
If thou hast heard me--if thy Spirit know 34
Aught of these powers and whence their pleasures flow;
If things in our remembrance held so dear,
And thoughts and projects fondly cherished here,
To thy exalted nature only seem
Time's vanities, light fragments of earth's dream--
Rebuke us not![682]--The mandate is obeyed 40
That said, "Let praise be mute where I am laid;"
The holier deprecation, given in trust
To the cold marble, waits upon thy dust;
Yet have we found how slowly genuine grief
From _silent_ admiration wins relief. 45
Too long abashed thy Name is like a rose
That doth "within itself its sweetness close;"[683]
A drooping daisy changed into a cup
In which her bright-eyed beauty is shut up.
Within these groves, where still are flitting by 50
Shades of the Past, oft noticed with a sigh,
Shall stand a votive Tablet,[684] haply free,
When towers and temples fall, to speak of Thee!
If sculptured emblems of our mortal doom
Recal not there the wisdom of the Tomb, 55
Green ivy risen from out the cheerful earth,
Will[685] fringe the lettered stone; and herbs spring forth,
Whose fragrance, by soft dews and rain unbound,
Shall penetrate the heart without a wound;
While truth and love their purposes fulfil, 60
Commemorating genius, talent, skill,
That could not lie concealed where Thou wert known;
Thy virtues _He_ must judge, and He alone,
The God upon whose mercy they are thrown.

FOOTNOTES:

[676] Sir George Beaumont died on 7th February 1827.--ED.

[677] 1837.

upon which, 1835.

[678] See the Fenwick note to the next poem.--ED.

[679] 1837.

... and rhyme 1835.

[680] 1837.

Those fine accomplishments 1835.

[681] Sir George Beaumont used frequently to read Shakspeare aloud to his household and friends at Coleorton.--ED.

[682] 1837.

... Shakespeare's scene--
Rebuke us not!-- 1835.

[683] See, in Constable's "England's Helicon," Dametus' song to his Diaphenia, stanza 2--

Diaphenia like the spreading roses
That in thy sweets all sweet encloses.

Also in Fairfax's translation of Tasso's _Godfrey of Bullogne; or the_ _Recovery of Jerusalem_, book ii. stanza 18--

A veil obscured the sunshine of her eyes,
The rose within herself her sweetness closed.--ED.

[684] This "votive Tablet" may still be seen, with its "green ivy," "fringing the lettered stone." Compare the Sonnet _To the Author's Portrait_, p. 318.--ED.

[685] 1827.

Shall ... 1835.

"CHATSWORTH! THY STATELY MANSION, AND THE PRIDE"

Composed 1830.--Published 1835.

[I have reason to remember the day that gave rise to this Sonnet, the 6th of November, 1830. Having undertaken, a great feat for me, to ride my daughter's pony from Westmoreland to Cambridge, that she might have the use of it while on a visit to her uncle at Trinity Lodge, on my way from Bakewell to Matlock I turned aside to Chatsworth, and had scarcely gratified my curiosity by the sight of that celebrated place before there came on a severe storm of wind and rain which continued till I reached Derby, both man and pony in a pitiable plight. For myself, I went to bed at noon-day. In the course of that journey I had to encounter a storm worse if possible, in which the pony could (or would) only make his way slantwise.

I mention this merely to add that notwithstanding this battering I composed, on horseback, the lines to the memory of Sir George Beaumont, suggested during my recent visit to Coleorton.--I.F.]

One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."--ED.

Chatsworth! thy stately mansion, and the pride
Of thy domain, strange contrast do present
To house and home in many a craggy rent
Of the wild Peak; where new-born waters glide
Through fields whose thrifty occupants abide 5
As in a dear and chosen banishment,
With every semblance of entire content;
So kind is simple Nature, fairly tried!
Yet He whose heart in childhood gave her troth
To pastoral dales, thin-set with modest farms, 10
May learn, if judgment strengthen with his growth,
That, not for Fancy only, pomp hath charms;
And, strenuous to protect from lawless harms
The extremes of favoured life, may honour both.

1831

The Poems of 1831 included _The Primrose of the Rock_, a few Sonnets, and _Yarrow Revisited, and other Poems, composed during a tour in Scotland, and on the English Border, in the Autumn of 1831_.--ED.

THE PRIMROSE OF THE ROCK

Composed 1831.--Published 1835

[Written at Rydal Mount. The Rock stands on the right hand a little way leading up the middle road from Rydal to Grasmere. We have been in the habit of calling it the glow-worm rock from the number of glow-worms we have often seen hanging on it as described. The tuft of primrose has, I fear, been washed away by the heavy rains.--I.F.]

One of the "Poems of the Imagination."--ED.

A rock there is whose homely front[686]
The passing traveller slights;
Yet there the glow-worms hang their lamps,
Like stars, at various heights;
And one coy Primrose to that Rock 5
The vernal breeze invites.

What hideous warfare hath been waged,
What kingdoms overthrown,
Since first I spied that Primrose-tuft
And marked it for my own;[687] 10
A lasting link in Nature's chain
From highest heaven let down!

The flowers, still faithful to the stems,
Their fellowship renew;
The stems are faithful to the root, 15
That worketh out of view;
And to the rock the root adheres
In every fibre true.

Close clings to earth the living rock,
Though threatening still to fall; 20
The earth is constant to her sphere;
And God upholds them all:
So blooms this lonely Plant, nor dreads
Her annual funeral.

* * * * *

Here closed the meditative strain; 25
But air breathed soft that day,
The hoary mountain-heights were cheered,
The sunny vale looked gay;
And to the Primrose of the Rock
I gave this after-lay. 30

I sang--Let myriads of bright flowers,
Like Thee, in field and grove
Revive unenvied;--mightier far,
Than tremblings that reprove
Our vernal tendencies to hope, 35
Is[688] God's redeeming love;

That love which changed--for wan disease,
For sorrow that had bent
O'er hopeless dust, for withered age--
Their moral element, 40
And turned the thistles of a curse
To types beneficent.

Sin-blighted though we are, we too,
The reasoning Sons of Men,
From one oblivious winter called 45
Shall rise, and breathe again;
And in eternal summer lose
Our threescore years and ten.

To humbleness of heart descends
This prescience from on high, 50
The faith that elevates the just,
Before and when they die;
And makes each soul a separate heaven,
A court for Deity.

FOOTNOTES:

[686] 1835.

... lonely front 1836.
The edition of 1841 returns to the text of 1835.

[687] In Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere Journal the following occurs:--April 24, 1802.--"We walked in the evening to Rydal. Coleridge and I lingered behind. We all stood to look at Glow-worm Rock--a primrose that grew there, and just looked out on the road from its own sheltered bower."

The Primrose had disappeared when the Fenwick note was dictated, and Glow-worms have now almost deserted the district; but the _Rock_ is unmistakable, and it is one of the most interesting spots connected with Wordsworth in the Lake District.--ED.

[688] 1836.

In ... 1835.

TO B. R. HAYDON, ON SEEING HIS PICTURE OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE ON THE ISLAND OF ST. HELENA

Composed 1831.--Published 1832

[This Sonnet, though said to be written on seeing the Portrait of Napoleon, was, in fact, composed some time after, extempore, in the wood at Rydal Mount.--I.F.]

Haydon! let worthier judges praise the skill
Here by thy pencil shown in truth of lines
And charm of colours; _I_ applaud those signs
Of thought, that give the true poetic thrill;
That unencumbered whole of blank and still, 5
Sky without cloud--ocean without a wave;
And the one Man that laboured to enslave
The World, sole-standing high on the bare hill--
Back turned, arms folded, the unapparent face
Tinged, we may fancy, in this dreary place 10
With light reflected from the invisible sun
Set, like his fortunes; but not set for aye
Like them. The unguilty Power pursues his way,
And before _him_ doth dawn perpetual run.[689]

FOOTNOTES:

[689] Haydon, as he tells us in his Autobiography, received a commission from Sir Robert Peel, in December 1830, "to paint Napoleon musing, the size of life." He finished it in June 1831, and thus described it himself:--

"Napoleon was peculiarly alive to poetical association as produced by scenery or sound; village bells with their echoing ding, dong, dang, now bursting full on the ear, now dying in the wind, affected him as they affect everybody alive to natural impressions, and on the eve of all his great battles you find him stealing away in the dead of the night, between the two hosts, and indulging in every species of poetical reverie. It was impossible to think of such a genius in captivity, without mysterious associations of the sky, the sea, the rock, and the solitude with which he was enveloped. I never imagined him but as if musing at dawn, or melancholy at sunset, listening at midnight to the beating and roaring of the Atlantic, or meditating as the stars gazed and the moon shone on him; in short Napoleon never appeared to me but at those seasons of silence and twilight, when nature seems to sympathise with the fallen, and when if there be moments in this turbulent earth fit for celestial intercourse, one must imagine these would be the times immortal spirits might select to descend within the sphere of mortality, to soothe and comfort, to inspire and support the afflicted.

"Under such impressions the present picture was produced.... I imagined him standing on the brow of an impending cliff, and musing on his past fortunes, ... sea-birds screaming at his feet, ... the sun just down, ... the sails of his guard-ship glittering on the horizon, and the Atlantic, calm, silent, awfully deep, and endlessly extensive."--_Life of Benjamin Robert Haydon_, vol. ii. pp. 301, 302.

This picture, one of the noblest which Haydon painted, is still at Drayton Manor.--ED.

YARROW REVISITED, AND OTHER POEMS

COMPOSED (TWO EXCEPTED) DURING A TOUR IN SCOTLAND, AND ON THE
ENGLISH BORDER, IN THE AUTUMN OF 1831.

Composed 1831.--Published 1835

[In the autumn of 1831, my daughter and I set off from Rydal to visit Sir Walter Scott before his departure for Italy. This journey had been delayed by an inflammation in my eyes till we found that the time appointed for his leaving home would be too near for him to receive us without considerable inconvenience. Nevertheless we proceeded and reached Abbotsford on Monday. I was then scarcely able to lift up my eyes to the light. How sadly changed did I find him from the man I had seen so healthy, gay, and hopeful, a few years before, when he said at the inn at Paterdale, in my presence, his daughter Anne also being there, with Mr. Lockhart, my own wife and daughter, and Mr. Quillinan,--"I mean to live till I am _eighty_, and I shall write as long as I live." But to return to Abbotsford: the inmates and guests we found there were Sir Walter, Major Scott, Anne Scott, and Mr. and Mrs. Lockhart, Mr. Liddell, his Lady and Brother, and Mr. Allan the painter, and Mr. Laidlaw, a very old friend of Sir Walter's. One of Burns's sons, an officer in the Indian service, had left the house a day or two before, and had kindly expressed his regret that he could not wait my arrival, a regret that I may truly say was mutual. In the evening, Mr. and Mrs. Liddell sang, and Mrs. Lockhart chanted old ballads to her harp; and Mr. Allan, hanging over the back of a chair, told and acted old stories in a humorous way. With this exhibition and his daughter's singing, Sir Walter was much amused, as indeed were we all as far as circumstances would allow. But what is most worthy of mention is the admirable demeanour of Major Scott during the following evening when the Liddells were gone and only ourselves and Mr. Allan were present. He had much to suffer from the sight of his father's infirmities and from the great change that was about to take place at the residence he had built, and where he had long lived in so much prosperity and happiness. But what struck me most was the patient kindness with which he supported himself under the many fretful expressions that his sister Anne addressed to him or uttered in his hearing. She, poor thing, as mistress of that house, had been subject, after her mother's death, to a heavier load of care and responsibility and greater sacrifices of time than one of such a constitution of body and mind was able to bear. Of this, Dora and I were made so sensible, that, as soon as we had crossed the Tweed on our departure, we gave vent at the same moment to our apprehensions that her brain would fail and she would go out of her mind, or that she would sink under the trials she had passed and those which awaited her. On Tuesday morning Sir Walter Scott accompanied us and most of the party to Newark Castle on the Yarrow. When we alighted from the carriages he walked pretty stoutly, and had great pleasure in revisiting those his favourite haunts. Of that excursion the verses _Yarrow Revisited_ are a memorial. Notwithstanding the romance that pervades Sir Walter's works and attaches to many of his habits, there is too much pressure of fact for these verses to harmonise as much as I could wish with other poems. On our return in the afternoon we had to cross the Tweed directly opposite Abbotsford. The wheels of our carriage grated upon the pebbles in the bed of the stream that there flows somewhat rapidly: a rich but sad light of rather a purple than a golden hue was spread over the Eildon Hills at that moment; and, thinking it probable that it might be the last time Sir Walter would cross the stream, I was not a little moved, and expressed some of my feelings in the Sonnet beginning--"A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain." At noon on Thursday we left Abbotsford, and in the morning of that day Sir Walter and I had a serious conversation _tête-à-tête_, when he spoke with gratitude of the happy life which upon the whole he had led. He had written in my daughter's Album, before he came into the breakfast-room that morning, a few stanzas addressed to her, and, while putting the book into her hand, in his own study, standing by his desk, he said to her in my presence--"I should not have done anything of this kind but for your father's sake: they are probably the last verses I shall ever write." They show how much his mind was impaired, not by the strain of thought but by the execution, some of the lines being imperfect, and one stanza wanting corresponding rhymes: one letter, the initial S, had been omitted in the spelling of his own name. In this interview also it was that, upon my expressing a hope of his health being benefited by the climate of the country to which he was going, and by the interest he would take in the classic remembrances of Italy, he made use of the quotation from _Yarrow Unvisited_ as recorded by me in the _Musings of Aquapendente_ six years afterwards. Mr. Lockhart has mentioned in his life of him what I heard from several quarters while abroad, both at Rome and elsewhere, that little seemed to interest him but what he could collect or hear of the fugitive Stuarts and their adherents who had followed them into exile. Both the _Yarrow Revisited_ and the "Sonnet" were sent him before his departure from England. Some further particulars of the conversations which occurred during this visit I should have set down had they not been already accurately recorded by Mr. Lockhart. I first became acquainted with this great and amiable man--Sir Walter Scott--in the year 1803, when my sister and I, making a tour in Scotland, were hospitably received by him in Lasswade upon the banks of the Esk, where he was then living. We saw a good deal of him in the course of the following week; the particulars are given in my sister's Journal of that tour.--I.F.]

TO

SAMUEL ROGERS, Esq.

AS A TESTIMONY OF FRIENDSHIP, AND ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF INTELLECTUAL OBLIGATIONS, THESE MEMORIALS ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.

RYDAL MOUNT, _Dec._ 11, 1834.

I

"THE GALLANT YOUTH, WHO MAY HAVE GAINED"

[The following Stanzas are a memorial of a day passed with Sir Walter Scott, and other Friends visiting the Banks of the Yarrow under his guidance, immediately before his departure from Abbotsford, for Naples.

The title _Yarrow Revisited_ will stand in no need of explanation, for Readers acquainted with the Author's previous poems, suggested by that celebrated Stream.--I.F.]

The gallant Youth, who may have gained,
Or seeks, a "winsome Marrow,"
Was but an Infant in the lap
When first I looked on Yarrow;
Once more, by Newark's Castle-gate 5
Long left without a warder,
I stood, looked, listened, and with Thee,
Great Minstrel of the Border![690]

Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet day,
Their dignity installing 10
In gentle bosoms, while sere leaves
Were on the bough, or falling;
But breezes played, and sunshine gleamed--
The forest to embolden;
Reddened the fiery hues, and shot 15
Transparence through the golden.

For busy thoughts the Stream flowed on
In foamy agitation;
And slept in many a crystal pool
For quiet contemplation:[691] 20
No public and no private care
The freeborn mind enthralling,
We made a day of happy hours,
Our happy days recalling.

Brisk Youth appeared, the Morn of youth, 25
With freaks of graceful folly,--
Life's temperate Noon, her sober Eve,
Her Night not melancholy;
Past, present, future, all appeared
In harmony united, 30
Like guests that meet, and some from far,
By cordial love invited.

And if, as Yarrow, through the woods
And down the meadow ranging,
Did meet us with unaltered face, 35
Though we were changed and changing;
If, _then_, some natural shadows spread
Our inward prospect over,
The soul's deep valley was not slow
Its brightness to recover. 40

Eternal blessings on the Muse,
And her divine employment!
The blameless Muse, who trains her Sons
For hope and calm enjoyment;
Albeit sickness, lingering yet, 45
Has o'er their pillow brooded;
And Care waylays[692] their steps--a Sprite
Not easily eluded.

For thee, O SCOTT! compelled to change
Green Eildon-hill and Cheviot 50
For warm Vesuvio's vine-clad slopes;
And leave thy Tweed and Tiviot
For mild Sorento's breezy waves;
May classic Fancy, linking
With native Fancy her fresh aid, 55
Preserve thy heart from sinking!

O! while they minister to thee,
Each vying with the other,
May Health return to mellow Age,
With Strength, her venturous brother; 60
And Tiber, and each brook and rill
Renowned in song and story,
With unimagined beauty shine,
Nor lose one ray of glory!

For Thou, upon a hundred streams, 65
By tales of love and sorrow,
Of faithful love, undaunted truth,
Hast shed the power of Yarrow;
And streams unknown, hills yet unseen,
Wherever they[693] invite Thee, 70
At parent Nature's grateful call,
With gladness must requite Thee.

A gracious welcome shall be thine,
Such looks of love and honour
As thy own Yarrow gave to me 75
When first I gazed upon her;
Beheld what I had feared to see,
Unwilling to surrender
Dreams treasured up from early days,
The holy and the tender. 80

And what, for this frail world, were all
That mortals do or suffer,
Did no responsive harp, no pen,
Memorial tribute offer?
Yea, what were mighty Nature's self? 85
Her features, could they win us,
Unhelped by the poetic voice
That hourly speaks within us?

Nor deem that localised Romance
Plays false with our affections; 90
Unsanctifies our tears--made sport
For fanciful dejections:
Ah, no! the visions of the past
Sustain the heart in feeling
Life as she is--our changeful Life, 95
With friends and kindred dealing.

Bear witness, Ye, whose thoughts that day
In Yarrow's groves were centred;
Who through the silent portal arch
Of mouldering Newark enter'd; 100
And clomb the winding stair that once
Too timidly was mounted
By the "last Minstrel," (not the last!)
Ere he his Tale recounted.

Flow on for ever, Yarrow Stream! 105
Fulfil thy pensive duty,
Well pleased that future Bards should chant
For simple hearts thy beauty;
To dream-light dear while yet unseen,
Dear to the common sunshine, 110
And dearer still, as now I feel,
To memory's shadowy moonshine!

FOOTNOTES:

[690] Wordsworth arrived at Abbotsford with his daughter to say farewell to Scott on the 21st September 1831. "On the 22nd," says Mr. Lockhart, "these two great poets, who had through life loved each other well, and in spite of very different theories as to art, appreciated each other's genius more justly than infirm spirits ever did either of them, spent the morning together in a visit to Newark. Hence the last of the three poems by which Wordsworth has connected his name to all time with the most romantic of Scottish streams."--_Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott_, vol. x. ch. lxxx. p. 104.

Compare the note to _Musings near Aquapendente_, in the Poems of the Italian Tour of 1837.--ED.

[691] Compare Tennyson's _Brook_, and Burns's _Epistle to William Simpson, Ochiltree_, stanza 15.--ED.

[692] 1837.

... waylay ... 1835.

[693] 1837.

Where'er thy path ... 1835.

II

ON THE DEPARTURE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT FROM ABBOTSFORD, FOR NAPLES